Bloodlines

No, O’Co

The double bill at the downtown movie house was letting out just as they neared the theater, and Jack took O’Co

For those moments, O’Co

As his hand dropped free of Corrigan’s, O’Co

Corrigan was asking him something. “I’m sorry,” O’Co

“I was asking if anyone had ever taught you how to box.”

“No, sir. Dermot tried once, but it didn’t take. If I did the right thing with my hands, I did the wrong thing with my feet.”

“A common problem,” Corrigan said, “even among the pros.”

They had reached the shore by then and Corrigan stopped to take off his shoes. “C’mon,” he said, “take yours off, too. Easier to learn on the sand.”

O’Co

“You’ll be warmed up in a minute,” Jack said.

The moon shone bright over the water and sand. Jack began to show O’Co

Jack rolled up his pants legs and dropped to his knees, held both hands up. “Okay,” he said, “come at me. Hard as you like.”

After a few hesitant punches, Jack said, “Harder.”

O’Co

“Harder,” Jack said again. “Pretend I’ve been mean to Maureen.”

O’Co

After a few minutes of punishment, Jack yelled, “Okay, okay! Truce! Uncle! Hell, I’m not going to be able to hold a pen tomorrow.” At O’Co

O’Co

Jack stood and brushed off his legs and feet. “We’ll have another lesson tomorrow.”

“Do you mean it?” O’Co

“Sure. But don’t try this out on anybody until you’ve had a chance to really learn what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I don’t aim to start fights.”

“Kid,” Jack said as they began to put on their socks and shoes, “if I thought you were aiming to start fights, I wouldn’t have taught you anything about boxing.”

“Who taught you?”

“My father.”

O’Co

“Your dad ever teach you anything?” Corrigan asked.

O’Co

Corrigan was quiet as they began to walk back to the Wrigley Building, heading up American Avenue. Nearby to the north, eerily silhouetted in the moonlight, were hills so crowded with oil derricks they seemed cloaked in a strange black forest of identical leafless trees. “That’s where my dad worked,” O’Co

“Roughnecking-that’s some of the hardest work anywhere,” Jack said.

O’Co

“I think so, yes.”

“I keep praying that the Lord will cure him. I don’t understand why he doesn’t. I mean, Jesus suffered on the cross, but he didn’t stay up there for years at a time, now, did he?”

“I’m not the man to teach you about religion, Co

Jack saw that the boy was making some earnest reply, but just at that moment, a Red Car came by, rumbling its way down the rails to the next stop.

“What did you say?”

“I said, never mind boxing-I mean, I won’t mind learning it. But what I really want you to teach me, Mr. Jack Corrigan, is how to be a newspaper-man.”

8

T HE NURSE CAME BACK TO CHECK ON CORRIGAN, BREAKING THE SPELL reminiscence had cast on O’Co

He watched Jack, still filled with wonder that the man had taken an eight-year-old boy’s ambitions so seriously. Jack had told O’Co

O’Co

Several months later, another visitor had stopped near his corner.

Mitch Yeager stood eyeing him for long, nerve-wracking moments before he approached O’Co

Not much older than Dermot, O’Co

He stood staring at the boy. Co

He heard laughter behind him and saw Yeager look up with a scowl. He turned to see Jack Corrigan.

“Picking on schoolkids now, Mitch?” Jack said. “You start bullying Wrigley’s paperboys, he might be willing to let the ink flow again.”

“The kid would have been better off going to school instead of hanging out in a courtroom,” Yeager said. He looked back at O’Co